


The Red Room

by sarasfics



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, hes such a tough boi, realistic alfie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-28 20:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13279683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasfics/pseuds/sarasfics
Summary: She managed a business, The Red Room. The nature of that business was questionable to some, but compared to the streets of Camden, it was saintly. However, it was owned by a not-so-saintly man.





	1. one

She leaned in towards the slightly clouded mirror, taking your time while applying the rouge pigment to her lips. After quickly checking the time, she walked out the door swiftly, wanting to be punctual at all times. If she was to be a working woman in these tumultuous times, she needed to earn the respect of her peers. 

She helped run a business, The Red Room. The nature of that same business was rather questionable to some, but compared to the streets of Camden, it was saintly. She was a manager and dancer at a burlesque cabaret owned by some, not-so-saintly people. The arts of dance and music allowed women to express themselves, and the club was well known to be a spot where people could let loose and have fun. She didn’t bother herself with who owned the place.

However, recently the joint had come under scrutiny due to ties with the Suffragette movement. The dancers at the club wanted equal rights, and rightly so. It was a shame the men did not share the same opinion. She and the other girls left work on a Saturday night to protest for women’s rights. So when the owner of the cabaret called her the following Monday, she knew she was in some deep shit.

The doors to the somewhat familiar “bakery” opened, and she walked in with her head up and shoulders back. If she had learned anything from her occupation, she knew the only way to be taken seriously as a woman was to act as confident as she possibly could.

“He’s ready for ya.” A man said, walking towards her with a cigarette in his mouth and a smug look adorning his face. “Follow me.”

When she walked into the small office, she stared into the eyes of the one man she should fear. Alfie Solomons had never scared her, living in Camden as a burlesque dancer made sure she knew how to handle anxiety-provoking situations. As soon as she walked into the office, she was met with the rather displeased face of Mr. Alfie Solomons.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He said bluntly. “I’m not sure you fucking understand who owns this club. Go on then. Give me a reason as to why I didn’t get money from Saturday.” He stared at her, not even blinking. “Tell me. It better be fucking good.”

“The Red Room was closed Saturday.” She replied simply.

He put on a fake facade of surprise, mocking her. “Oh! I’m sorry! The Red Room was closed Saturday! I can’t believe I even asked! Forgot that you run the place. Seems that I thought that I fucking owned it.” He looked over at the wall, gathering his thoughts briefly.

“When I pay you. And I pay you damn well, by the way, I expect you to do as asked. I don’t give a shit if you’re pro-woman or whatever. Means fuck all to me. The club is open. You do a dance. Men go batshit. They throw money. You give me money.”

“Maybe you should give a fuck about women’s rights if your business is run by women. Maybe they fucking matter. Maybe that would be a good business venture.”

“‘Scuse me? I wasn’t aware that you were above me. Actually, last time I checked, it wasn’t your fucking club.” He felt himself gradually get more and more pissed off. Some pretty girl walks into his territory and expects him to give her what she wants because she has tits.

“Just a simple suggestion, is all.” She calmly said, crossing one leg over the other and resting her hands on her lap. She made her opinion known but didn’t want to send herself packing from the dimly-lit establishment. The girls needed her too much.

“Look, I’ll be personally visiting every now and again. Don’t care about what you do in your free time, but the club better be fucking open. No more ditching work with the other girls or I won’t be nearly as lenient as I am today. Now fuck off.”

As soon as she walked outside and felt the cold London air, she deeply exhaled, slightly relieved she didn’t get herself into trouble. She always had a fat mouth and a harsh temper. She was right pissed at her fucking boss. 

Women demanded equal rights. They deserved the same rights as men. As passionately she felt about the situation, keeping her job was more important. The girls were paid well and protected. No one dared fuck with them, as it was well known that if they were so much as touched, the Jewish gang would be on the creep’s doorstep the next day. She wished the women in factories were treated similarly, it was a shame they had to deal with so much.

When she reached the cabaret, she was instantly met with the concerned face of Elsie, a fellow performer. “How did it go? Was he upset?” She instantly questioned, her strong New York accent obvious.

“It was fine, I took care of it.” She said looking over at the beautiful blonde. “He did say he was going to stop by to prevent any further closures. To put what he said nicely.” She rolled her eyes, understanding how he had actually said it. 

“Jesus, that man needs to relax. I was worried sick, you being so-- stubborn and all, I’m glad you didn’t start throwing punches.” The petite woman exhaled. Elsie knew what her friend could be like, pretty one second, rather terrifying the next.

“Who said punches weren’t thrown?” She said with a straight face, attempting to get a rise out of Elsie, obviously succeeding when her eyes widened before realizing the joke and saying a simple “bullshit”. 

“I wanted to though, he was a right arsehole.” She said to the girl, quickly walking into the dressing room to be made up for tonight. Men usually packed the bar on weekends, but a few regulars could be found at the joint on weekdays after work. She stared at herself in the mirror for the second time that day, this time not as confident as the first, sincerely wondering what the fuck she was doing.


	2. Chapter 2

The light shone down on her, she could feel the heat radiating to her skin. As she started to perform her act, she noticed a new man amongst the crowd on this Friday night. Knowing he was watching her, she closed her eyes and immersed herself in the jazz music. Whenever she performed it seemed like an eternity in mere minutes, everything was a daze, yet felt so surreal. Before she knew it her performance was over, and she had to rush backstage in order to get ready for the group number coming up. She changed into the short red dress for the group number, before sitting down at a makeup table.

“Nice to see a full house tonight.” She heard a thick cockney accent say, looking up to see a Mr. Alfie Solomons behind her in the mirror, leaning up against the wall. “Particularly enjoyed the part where you were here.”

“Was it that you enjoyed my mere attendance or my performance, Mr. Solomons?” She was a Suffragette who stood up for herself, but just because she cared about women’s politics did not mean she didn’t enjoy the company of men from time to time. That was a dumb myth started by some assholes who assumed when women supported each other they only wanted to tear men down.

“Whatever keeps the men here is what I like.” He said simply, quite aware of the two ways his ambiguous phrase could be interpreted. 

“Well, the performance brings the men back.” She looked over at the stage, seeing the women start to line up for the next number. “I’m back on in a few, watch.” She said, not bothering to look back at the man. Deep under that abrasive exterior, there was a softer man. He was rough around the edges, but that was what made him attractive.

He certainly enjoyed the show. When he watched her, she intoxicated his soul. Slightly drunk from copious amounts of bourbon, he allowed himself to let his guard down a bit. She could see that, which only made him want to leave. In his line of work, women and children were often caught in the crossfire. Look at Thomas Shelby, his son was kidnapped and his wife murdered over the course of mere months. He saw no need to involve any innocent people in his life.

So, as much as he would’ve loved to have watched the finale, basking in the glory of her existence, he chose to simply wait outside for her. He knew the group dance was the last performance of the night, and it was already three in the morning. After about a half hour, the women started to shuffle out into the cold streets of London. She was the last one out, due to her requirement to lock up the joint every night. Being a manager had its perks, but this was not one of them.

This night, however, she found the boss man stood outside the Red Room, smoking a cigarette in solitude. He comfortably leaned up against the sleek black car, waiting for the managerial woman.  
“You didn’t watch the finale, what a shame.” She broke the silence, attempting to sound witty even when she was a tad disappointed.

“Came out for a smoke, want a ride home? It’s awfully cold.” He gestured towards the air, which was extremely cold on that December night... “Come on, I’ll give you a lift. You’re fucking shivering.” He grabbed a coat from the back seat of his car, wrapping it around her shoulders and opening the passenger door for her. She smiled, softly, and hopped into the warm vehicle.

He started the engine and looked over at her. “Thank you.” She said, benevolent. Even though just a week ago she was screaming at this man, she felt oddly comfortable with him now. Probably because this time she didn’t have any reason to be angry with him.

Last week he saw something in her. When she walked into his office, he felt himself becoming more acerbic, needing to maintain his role as the boss. She was gorgeous, but he couldn’t let himself give in to her. That was why he left and waited outside. He just slipped up a bit when he offered a ride home. 

He was about a minute into the drive home when she started humming an old tune. The way her hair shone in the moonlight, he struggled to keep his eyes on the road. Eventually, the car came to a stop. Swiftly hopping out, he immediately headed towards the car door, opening it like a true gentleman would. 

It was odd that he chose to do something gentlemanly, she thought, looking at the older man. She knew he couldn’t be all that horrible, she never sensed a feeling of danger around him, he was just a bit blunt. Always had a very caustic persona when approaching business whenever they interacted over the years. But when the business talk was over, like it was at that moment, she knew he had a heart of gold underneath the rough exterior.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” She inquired, looking at the ground before flashing her eyes to his face when she did not immediately get an answer. He was torn. One part of him screamed to go and be with her, the other told him it would be a mistake, to think about the consequences.

“Better not, I have a meeting with the Italians tomorrow morning,” he responded truthfully. It was not a lie, Luca Changretta was going to ask him to kill Thomas Shelby. The man was a right cunt. “Maybe later though, as long as I can meet you at the club. Ya should be there though, if you’re not we’d have a bit of trouble, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She spoke gently, before turning her back to him and beginning the treacherous walk to the front door.

“Hey! Y/N!” She heard Alfie holler back at her. She swiftly turned to face him, only to hear him yell “Ya looked pretty fuckin sexy tonight.” before driving off into the night.

As soon as she closed the door to her apartment building, she was met with the face of a concerned Elsie.

“Where the hell have you been? And who the fuck drove you home from the club?” She inquired, her blonde curls pinned to the top of her head, body covered with a pale pink silk robe.

“A man...” She replied bashfully, feeling her cheeks warm up. Elsie’s concerned face was immediately adorned with a smirk. 

“Does this man happen to be a tough Jewish guy who is the human form of the phrase ‘fuck off’?” She teased, finding herself hilarious. “Come over to my apartment, I have a fresh bottle of wine and we could talk! Plus, I have some fantastic chocolates.”

“You had me at wine.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So, Mr. Solomons.” Elsie exhaled, slowly waving her wine glass around in a soft circle. “Does he have like a magic dick or something beca-”

“Elsie! No!” The girl whisper-screamed back. “What makes you think we would do anything like that?” Elsie gave her a confused look in return. “Honey, you do realize you’re a burlesque dancer, right? You dance. Usually in lingerie. I have literally seen you take off your lingerie as well. In front of about thirty men.”

“Look, I never said I was the Virgin Mary. I just- don’t want to fuck my boss. He has enemies. They could probably kill me.”

The blonde nodded slowly. “You didn’t seem so sure about your decision not to fuck your boss tonight, that’s all I’m saying. Because from my point of view, you looked like you wanted to screw his brains out.” Elsie stated matter-of-factly, sinking her teeth into another chocolate.

“That’s true.” She replied, giggling slightly before taking another sip of the bitter wine. Americans always liked sweet alcohol, but Elsie did not fit that stereotype. “I don’t know if he does though. I tried to get him to watch the finale because, I mean you know the finale, it’s certainly a way to end the night. But he waited outside! It was such a shame. I made sure he got a bit hot and bothered during the show, but I’m pretty sure he was just thinking with his cock.”

“All men think with their cocks, Y/N. Weird he didn’t watch the finale…” She trailed off, looking at the ground for a moment before snapping her head up as if she remembered something. “Shit! Forgot to tell you! The guy who’s always with Mr. Solomons, Ollie, stopped by this morning. Said there might be some protection around the area of our building. Something about the Italians.”

Elsie was sweet as anything, but what the girl obtained in looks she lacked in memory. “Jesus, Elsie! This is exactly why I shouldn’t get involved with him. The last thing I want is for the Italians to show up at my door wanting to use me as a pawn.”

“You need to make up your damn mind. You’re with him and you give him constant heart eyes, but when you leave him you start thinking all cynically believing a quick fling will end in death. You already work for him, and you haven’t died yet. You don’t have to marry the man.”

She rolled her eyes, listening to her friend speaking the truth. She found Alfie very attractive. She was just anxious and attempting to come up with reasons to not pursue him because she didn’t want to end up hurt. She wished she just wanted a quick fuck and duck but she wanted something more. But whenever she was with him she just hyper-focused on him, like all of a sudden all logic went out the window, and apparently, so did her will to live.

“I better get back to my apartment, my bed is calling my name.” She said, starting to head to the door.

“Bye then. But seriously, stop worrying so much.” Elsie advised, opening the door for her slightly drunk friend. The only reply Elsie got was a mumbled “I won’t make promises I can’t keep.” before her friend was out the door and into her apartment, just three doors down.

The next morning, the phone rang rather obnoxiously, waking the girl up from the sweet release of slumber. She lazily leaned over the telephone, attempting to sound awake enough to be a functioning human. “Hello?” Her voice was raspy, but she didn’t mind all that much. It was what someone gets for calling at nine in the morning after a long night.

“Come to the bakery. Now.” An angry Alfie Solomons demanded on the other end. She could feel her insides deflate at the thought of leaving her bed. “Can it wait until later? I’m tired.”

“No. If ya not fucking here in fifteen minutes I’ll be well pissed, yeah?” It was the only reply she received before the line went dead.

She just moaned into her pillow for a moment, soon reluctantly throwing on a dress and combing her hair before she rushed out the door, with a cigarette clenched firmly between her lips. What could she say, it was a breakfast of champions.

When she walked into the bakery, she was met with Alfie’s face, looking just as frustrated as he sounded on the phone only twenty minutes before.

“You’re late.” He muttered, staring her dead in the eyes.

“Well I hate to tell you but the bakery is a ten-minute walk.”

“Look, the Italians raided the Red Room last night. It wasn’t Sabini.” He stated, resting his hands on his desk. He saw her face adorn an expression of pure confusion.

“What other Italian is there?” She asked, confused as to why any other Italian would break into the club.

“Luca Changretta. He’s a douchebag from New York.” He sighed, pausing before explaining himself. “I was supposed to meet him an hour ago, but there was a plan to ambush him. Allow Tommy fucking Shelby to kill him but Luca knew. Something about Polly Shelby betraying Tommy to save her son. Basically, the Shelby’s fucked me over and now he’s after my fucking business.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to comprehend the events that unfolded over the past twelve hours. “What does this mean for me?” She inquired, truly not knowing how this would affect her business. Did this guy want the Red Room? Or did he only want the alcohol business? Maybe the territory.

“He wants it all. Red Room, bakery, alcohol, power. He wants me begging on my knees for my fucking life. However, he knows I am the key to Thomas Shelby. Doesn’t want me dead. Yet.” He spoke, handing her a gun. “I have men guarding the girl’s apartments as well as the Red Room. I know you’re the only one of the girls who isn’t armed at all times. This one should be small enough to carry ‘round.”

“Well, fuck.” She breathed, holding the gun in her hand. She always kept a rifle in her home, but never felt the need to carry one around. Guess she always thought no one would fuck with her. She worked for a gang, so she was well-feared, but she never mattered enough to become a target.

“Hey, next time some cunt comes ‘round offering rides home you’ll have this to threaten him with.” He winked at you, before telling you to bugger off, leaving you to smile to yourself on your walk home, knowing deep down he cared.


End file.
